


The Apology

by BlueRogue



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Stripping, SuperBat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRogue/pseuds/BlueRogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark demands an apology. Bruce has trouble with words, and Clark has a solution. A sexy one.</p>
<p>Edited by the lovely <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingLittleGhoul">DarlingLittleGhoul</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Some may not like this and say Clark and Bruce would never do this. Out of character for Clark, too much exposure for Bruce. Blah blah blah. XD  
> Some may actually like it.  
> To all of you enjoy.  
> Edited with a few more saucy details.

 

Bruce sat on the couch, drink in one hand, phone in the other. At that hour he should be out there patrolling the city. Instead he was sprawled on the couch, staring at his phone. He set it down on the glass table in front of him, but couldn’t take his eyes off it. Calling would have been much easier, but apologizing was not his strong suit. Relationships as a whole were not his strong suit.

His vest and jacket were on the other side of the couch. It was dark in the office, the only light coming from the streets outside. Gotham spread out on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows behind him.

He wasn’t a drinker at all. Bruce would make a show of it on social events, but Alfred knew to water down his drinks. He never cared to lose control of himself because of alcohol. But there he was with a whiskey in hand to drown out the anger and hurt.

Bruce took apart his tie, snapping open the top buttons of his shirt. The phone buzzed with a text message, the rattle of the phone against the glass shattering the silence of his office .

 

‘Apologize’ the message read.

Bruce stared at it, but didn’t respond right away. It was unusual for Clark to say anything at all. They were similar in that respect. Instead of complaining they would stay quiet. Except Clark would attempt to get close again, and Bruce would pull away.

The thought of ignoring the text crossed his mind. He had gone off on a verbally violent tirade on Clark  and now the man  was fearlessly demanding an apology. Again, Clark wanted to move past it. Bruce wanted to stew and find an excuse to end it all. They should have never let it happen in the first place.

‘Why can’t you accept you fucked up.’

Clark texted again, and Bruce wondered if the man was angry. How many times did Clark destroy a phone with angry texting?

‘Bruce Wayne fucked up and now he’s too chicken to apologize.’

He had to admit, reading that made him a little angry. Bruce stared at the phone like he was the one with heat vision.

‘You are pissing me off.’ He texted back and left it at that, but he ought to know Clark wouldn’t get the hint.

‘Great. Where are you?’

Bruce gripped the phone,  took a deep breath and answered anyway.

‘At the office.’

‘The party sucked then.’

‘Yes.’

There was silence for another ten minutes. Bruce finished his drink and poured himself another. More than once he almost did type an apology, but ended up erasing it. He really did regret all the things he had said. Clark didn’t deserve any of his spiteful words.

‘If I tell you what to do, to apologize, will you do it?’

Bruce’s breath caught and instinctively he glanced behind him. Everything seemed clear beyond the windows. If the man was hiding, Bruce wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.

‘Yes.’

‘Get your laptop and accept the chat request.’

Bruce groaned in annoyance.

‘Are we going to video chat now?’

‘Get your damned laptop Bruce and do what I say.’

He peeled himself off the couch, leaving the drink behind. Bruce opened his briefcase and pulled out the laptop. Clark had sent him a video chat request and he accepted. The screen remained dark afterwards.

“Clark?”

“I’m here.” The man’s voice sounded amused though. “My camera is broken remember.”

“And I told you I can buy you a new damn laptop...”

“Bruce shut up and take off your shirt.”

The silence stretched and he didn’t like that Clark could see him, but he couldn’t see the bastard. Any other time he would be suspicious, uncomfortable, but Bruce was confident in his encryption and the security it provided. Taking off his shirt was a small price to pay. He leaned back in his chair and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You better be alone.” He warned him reaching for the last button, chest exposed.

“Relax, I’m a serious reporter. Releasing Bruce Wayne’s sex tape is not in my agenda.” Clark laughed and he tried not to smile with that. His face remained impassive, borderline bored as it was.

“Keep going.”

Bruce stared at the black screen and stood, slowly taking off the crisp white shirt.

 

“Satisfied?” He asked and could hear Clark chuckling. It just sounded dirty and sexy, completely unlike the man.

“Not even close. That belt bothers me. Take it off.”

That drew a chuckle from Bruce. He worked the belt off slowly, drawing it out. Clark didn’t say a word. He snapped the belt off and threw it aside.

“Now…” Clark didn’t get to finish. Bruce started unbuttoning his pants right away. “You are getting this then.”

“You make it too easy Kansas.”

“Yeah I imagine a city boy like you would know all about putting on a show.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. He held the zipper a second too long before pulling it down, taking his time. One hand pushed down on the waistband of his pants, slowly revealing the marked V line his abs made.

“You are getting kinky on me Kansas”

 

He lifted his head and smirked, the motion unmistakably his own. Clark detested the mask of the millionaire playboy. But he didn’t seem to mind that night. He pushed his pants down, taking them off and slipping out of his shoes as well.

“Me? You’ve clearly done this before.”

“Millionaire. Playboy. Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.” He said as if that explained it all, and really it did. Clark didn’t need to know how many he dated, or took to bed. Much less how well he wore the mask of the self centered rich businessman.

“Fine. I don’t forgive you yet.”

They both chuckled and Bruce slipped his hands beneath the waistband of his black briefs. He heard the creak that the backrest of Clark’s bed made. Now he knew exactly where the man was. He was at home enjoying the show. That creak was him leaning back, perhaps in surprise or maybe he was getting off on the whole thing. Neither of those two ideas bothered him, so his hand went further.

Bruce made small pumping motions, and he heard that creak of the bed again. Clark’s silence spoke volumes. He didn’t remove the briefs, but continued none the less. The silence stretched even further and Bruce stared straight into the camera. The corner of his mouth formed a sly and deviant smile.

“Off.” Clark’s voice broke in, almost distant, breath hitched.  

He smirked once and pushed down the briefs. The palm of his hands touched every inch of skin on his hips and thighs. He was hard and right then Bruce wished Clark was not so far away, or angry at him. Bruce wrapped a hand around his member and stroked himself. After a few minutes he leaned forward on the desk, pressing a palm to the edge of the table. He was wearing his watch still, and the hour was past midnight. He should have been out on patrol.

Bruce stared at the screen then, a rousing suspicion that Clark was far too quiet. He wanted to think the man was jerking off silently as well, and the image only made him hotter. He felt a rush of cold night air hit his skin, and a large hand on his hips then.

“Let me help.” Clark’s voice was low, husky and his breath felt like fire against Bruce’s neck. Bruce nearly lost it. Clark took over, knowing exactly where he hid the lube in the leftmost drawer. Bruce pressed his ass against him, and the man was just as hard. There were no words for how insane and hot he felt. Who flew miles as fast as he could to take over? The man he had so viciously attacked with his words hours earlier that’s who.

Clark turned him around and fell to his knees. His mouth drew a raw and struggled moan from Bruce, then another as Clark sucked him off. Bruce wrapped his fingers on the man’s hair, hips bucking towards him. Two wet fingers entered him, stretched him at the same time. There was a rush in his movements at first, but then Clark slowed down, purposely torturing him with every hook of his fingers. Clark turned him around and he noticed the other was wearing his blues. He was instantly distracted by the feel of the man’s cock in him. As always, Clark took his time, because he was a considerate bastard. Bruce just wanted a hard fuck, a wild and painful one. That did it for him more than anything. He pushed back against the man, and it felt like he was impaling himself on a hard rock. The second time, less so. By the third Clark got the idea. Slow was not going to work, and while the man never let loose, he did shift to harder and faster pace. Bruce had to brace himself against the desk, and that was utter bliss for him.

The desk moved, sliding in short inches beneath him. He was thankful for a sound proofed office. Neither of them willed themselves to be quiet that time. Bruce reached back holding on to Clark’s neck. His arm was getting tired of holding himself up against the desk. Clark pulled out without a warning, turned him and threw him on top of the desk. He landed on his laptop, which snapped closed beneath him. With one hand he managed to push it away, before Clark was once more in him

Clark would never let go, and Bruce knew that but the man had gotten good at tip toeing the edge. His thrusts were hard enough to satisfy, hard enough to hurt. Fast enough to ensure he wouldn’t walk out of that office sure footed. Clark slipped a hand between them, and stroked him in time with his thrusts.

Clark whispered in his ear, which Bruce was too far gone to pay attention to. It was the way his voice sounded, deep and low, reverberating against the side of his head. That sound was enough to undo him. Both came one right after the other. It was loud and messy, and there was nothing pretty about it.

Painful was a better description, like dousing alcohol in a raw open wound. It would hurt, but it would heal. There would be a scar, but eventually they’d be proud of the scar. Eventually, Bruce would stop being a jerk to Clark. He just didn’t know when that would happen, and if Clark could wait that long.

 

* * *

 

It was well past 3 am already. Clark had never said if all was forgiven, and he didn’t want to ask. If it had been forgotten, Bruce would leave it there. He stared out the windows as he dressed. Gotham was dark and unforgiving, but beautiful in a strange way. The streets barely had any light down there, and all the buildings surrounding his had gone dark as well. He never liked to look at it from that viewpoint, from inside his office. It felt too distant, too cold. Bruce preferred the view from the roof of a highrise. The smell of everything Gotham was coming up to greet him. That was more personal, more intimate.

Clark walked up behind him. He could see the man reflected on the widows, all in blue with his bright red cape around him. Quite a sight up in the skies of Metropolis, yet an anomaly in the dark skies of Gotham. Clark wanted more. He wanted things Bruce couldn’t give.

“Should I be jealous?” He asked with a grin.

“hmm” Bruce would have said yes, but the wound was still raw and stinging for both of them.

Clark wrapped his around him and took over, again. He closed every single button on his shirt, neatly tucked it into his pants and fastened the clasp of his belt. It felt like a slow and necessary ritual.

His phone began buzzing madly, but Bruce ignored it.

“You should answer, it’s Tim.” Clark tried to move away to pick up the phone and Bruce held him in place.

“I’m not ready to tell them Clark.” For a second he found himself about to correct his own words. He was so used to calling him Superman when in full costume, yet in their own privacy it was just Clark. The lines were blurring and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I figured. It really was my fault. I caught you off guard with it.” Clark stared past their reflections in the windows, “I knew you’d be mad, but I’ve been trying to bring it up for months and you made it impossible Bruce.”

Clark noticed the glare and half smiled his apologies. If it wasn’t his fault, then he had no reason to apologize much less strip for it. Bruce said nothing, because complaining would be hypocritical at that point.

 

the end...for now.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much inspired by this piece of sexy: 
> 
> [Tumblr sexy](http://mensdear.tumblr.com/post/82595509497/business)


End file.
